


in white

by VentusBDaPlayer



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, a lot of bickering, also lancelot is just very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VentusBDaPlayer/pseuds/VentusBDaPlayer
Summary: lancelot has a dream of his recent mission at a royal wedding. takes place in the era of the order of black dragons.





	in white

**Author's Note:**

> hi i wrote percilan again
> 
> making them talk just ends up adding massive amounts to my word count and i don't know what to do about it

The sight before him was much like a dream.

Rich and vibrant confetti danced across the air of the vast hall adorned with gorgeous scarlet banners—and there in the corners stood one of the Vice-Captains of the Order of the Black Dragons, early into his twenties, a fit build that lacked any other significant features.

Lancelot had been hired to attend the royal wedding of a kingdom near Feendrache as security. This request had come to him as peculiar, considering that he was a no-name commoner from a no-name village—he held zero experience or knowledge in regards to these extravagant events. Surely his fellow vice-commander Percival would be much more suitable for this, he felt.

It wouldn’t be like him to turn down a job for this reason, however. Vane had even egged him into it upon catching wind of the news, gushing endlessly about how this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. And true to his best friend's enthusiasm, royal weddings were really another thing altogether—boasting glimmering golds that were rare even within Feendrache's grounds.

He hums as his deep sapphire eyes glimmer animatedly in awe across the room, although not for long before the officiant's emotional voice booms across the room, and Lancelot's sight begins to blur when he takes a turn towards the to-be-wed.

…

—The man facing him now had crimson hair slicked back after unnecessary amount of gel. His formal white suit was tagged along by a shirt left open on its upper buttons, heavily contradicting the flaunting personality that Lancelot had always known him to be.

But he could admit that he looked stunning like that, too.

Especially from the fact that he was adorned with a warm smile and a bouquet of vivid red roses resting on his arm. Lancelot was unable to make any more sense of the situation, however, when the redhead affectionately slides an arm around his shoulders, whispering softly in his ears that it was time.

The unusual gentleness of his fiance’s voice fills his heart with warm shivers, transforming his once unsure lips into a blooming smile—It's definitely him, he thinks to himself, there isn't anyone else he knows with the capability of churning the butterflies in his stomach in this manner, after all.

Glossy pure white stairs shone into their sight as the couple departs the aisle, its seemingly unending steps shrouded with clouds—dissipating bit by bit at every next advance—soon they stood before a wide garland-filled arch, decorated flowers singing in tunes of joy.

With the glamorous sight—the view he never imagined to be able to see for himself—glee only traveled further into his actions, his pale hand impulsively reaching out to hold onto the other's dearly so—eyes shyfully facing the ground.

"I'm so thankful that you're here with me today," he murmurs.

Immediately he was met with the same gesture, their hands squeezed and fingers locked with each other; almost as if they were never separate to begin with.

"I could never ask for more myself."

Their brief intimate moment was cut short by who Lancelot believes to be the officiant joining them on the flowery platform, clad in an ebony suit that contradicted the couple's.

It was strange, though, because no matter how much he tried to squint and blink, he couldn't make out the shape of his face.

In fact, he couldn’t hear any of his words, either.

Filled with mild panic he slaps his cheek, flinching moderately at the accidental amount of force he had applied even—except his movements attracted no reaction. Not even the groom standing next to him.

So he shakes his head and blinks a few more times; nothing was going correctly as things should be. This time his vision distorts, redirecting him into another scene.

In this one his hand had already been brought closer to his fiance’s enticing lips—the latter’s eyes tied shut in an unfamiliar form of tenderness. Even though Lancelot was clearly affected by this sudden change of flow, the other man continues without an issue as he plants a gentle, yet meaningful kiss on his knuckle.

_“Lancelot.”_

“I shall guarantee you all of my unconditional love, tenderness, and undying devotion; to not ask you to be more than you are, and to always and forevermore love you for being you.”

Lancelot stutters a laugh, one just barely enough to cover his embarrassment and confusion. Blood was very quickly rushing into his head—this wasn’t something he would hear everyday, let alone from someone like _him_ ; yet it quakes his world, an unknowing part of his mind craving for these same sweet words meant for him to be said in reality—

_“Lancelot!”_

… Wait, in reality?

…

“Hey, Lancelot, wake up!”

His left cheek carries a dull ache as Lancelot finally comes to consciousness, sapphire eyes blearily flickering themselves open to the sight of his own office.

Only two men were present in the room; Lancelot, who had been asleep until now, and his fellow vice-captain—

“Percival?” he manages, “Good morning.”

He was well aware that it was not morning—it was, in fact, pitch black out of the window facing him, but seeing the frustration build in his comrade’s face had always been one of his favourite choices of entertainment during work.

Percival, naturally by this point, ignores the jab without a stroke of amusement. His arms remained folded, fingers drumming onto the metal of his armour.

“What were you doing, falling asleep on your own desk?”

“I was dreaming.”

Scenes of his dream flash through his mind, causing Lancelot to smile sheepishly as he confesses to his act.

The other commander sighs wistfully.

“I understand that you've recently returned from a mission, but you ought to be careful of where you sleep.”

Lancelot pouts teasingly for a mere moment before reclining on his seat, grinning stupidly about how _even_ Percival was being concerned about his wellbeing. Maybe this wasn't so bad of a thing, after all.

“It was a nice dream, though.”

“Oh? Pray tell, what might’ve been fascinating enough for you to be skipping work?”

He clearly was not amused with the manner of his response, although it seems Percival was still willing enough to engage with his coworker for a little while longer.

Lancelot wasn’t sure if he considered this a positive result considering _what_ it was that he dreamt about—but at the same time, this may be the only opportunity for him to indulge in his… absurd crush, without making their situation awry.

“Well—Percival, have you ever—”

Although that, of course, still didn’t make it any easier to spill the beans.

“… Have you ever been to a royal wedding?”

Awkward silence fills the room; the disgruntled expression written across Percival’s face enough of an answer.

Lancelot wishes he could be hiding in a corner now, but instead he laughs it off—it naturally wasn’t going to be easy to ask about Percival’s love life all of a sudden, and the least he could be doing now is saving his face.

“Ah, no, I didn’t mean it that way—it’s just that I was recently tasked to be a guard at one, so I ended up having a dream where I was the groom.”

Oddly enough, the redhead’s expression changes towards the better—his frown remains attached, but his interest was most certainly piqued. The silence, from how Lancelot takes it, was his way of urging him to continue.

“I don’t think it’s any different from the usual ones,” the seated knight laughs weakly, unsure of how he should be continuing with the unexpected turn of events, “I’ve just never seen one prior to this and got interested, that’s all.”

“Would you truly remember a dream about a wedding specifically because it was royal?”

Lancelot pauses.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Percival clears his throat, briefly considering his words before he explains himself—Lancelot could swear he saw an inkling of a blush on the other commander’s cheek, but he doesn’t question it for his already dicey situation.

“... Because you were being unusually dodgy,” he states bluntly, “But I won’t deny it, I’m also interested to learn more about what you experienced in the mission.”

“To learn more about your ideal country?”

“To _build_ an ideal country, even for the commoners.”

The raven-haired knight has to hold back his laughter; who knows how many times he’s heard his friend go on about this specific topic ever since they received their pep talk from His Majesty, but he digresses.

“The wedding was really pretty, it was a hall filled with a lot of gold; it was something I’ve never seen before, but I don’t think it’s any different from the ones you’ve seen before?”

“No, not particularly,” Percival ponders, “it does vary from kingdom to kingdom, however—depending on its selected royal colours, the hall may change accordingly. Wales, in particular, has always preferred blue.”

“Blue, huh?” Lancelot smirks. Since he’s always seen the redhead boasting armour matching his hair colour, it was a little off-putting to imagine him in cooler shades. “Does that mean that when you’re going to get married, you’ll be having a hall of blue too?”

Now that was entirely worth its mention; the other knight’s face turns bashful, the large figure of red swiftly leaving Lancelot’s vision to face the window instead; he supposes that with no immediate response, he’s never thought about it before.

“Hm,” after a string of coughing and hesitation, the other man finally speaks up, his gaze shaky despite the aura of confidence he was attempting to sport. “I believe Wales would accommodate for the situation and adjust the colours to my preferences first.”

“That’s a shame, I would’ve _loved_ to see you in blue.”

Percival raises his eyebrows, perhaps even shooting a glare at his fellow knight who was blinking innocently, but in the end he only delivers a long sigh.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’ve always preferred red. And my older brother—the new King of Wales, isn’t one to nitpick on what kind of colours I wear.”

“You didn’t have to take it that seriously, you know,” Lancelot pouts again, his eyes displaying disappointment at being accused, “I was just saying what I thought about.”

“I doubt it.”

“Ouch.”

Silence falls over the two vice-captains once more. Lancelot soon finds his sight trailing towards his rival again, his blazing red slicked hair standing out in the rows of document-filled shelves—

The vision of the Percival from his dream returns, replacing red armour with white suit. In that moment Lancelot seats himself back up with eyes widened—he’s never realised up until now just how much he truly craved the view from his dream. How much he wished to take Percival’s hand in his, how much he wished to call him his equal, both in combat and in life.

He wasn’t given more time for daydreaming, however, when the other man shifts from his position, and the blue knight as a result has to pretend he wasn’t just frothing over how the former would look at his wedding.

Fortunately, the redhead doesn’t catch onto anything; he merely glances at Lancelot for a second with a sharp ruby gaze—before turning away and announcing his leave from the office; he’s spent far more time than he welcomed himself for, and it appeared Lancelot was perfectly alive and kicking. The typical kind of stuff he would get from him everyday.

Lancelot chuckles, waving his hand modestly as he too, resumes the pace from their daily lives—Percival should know best that there’s never anything to worry about when it came to him, was his returning punch.

There was one more thing he would like to ask before they return to the norm, though—

“You don’t actually have plans to get married, do you, Percival?”

Percival allows a chuckle to escape his breath while he turns the office door open, allowing his nostalgic smile to face his rival for his last words.

“No, I never did, but there exists someone who may be changing my mind.”


End file.
